


Of Sudden Hurricanes And Striking Realizations

by orphan_account



Series: Johnlock One-Shots and Other Mythical Beasts [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A lot of kissing, And by that I mean mutual pining leading up to this moment, Established Relationship, First Kiss, First Time (Implied), I'm not quite sure, Kinda out of character, M/M, Realization, So not really "established" as such, Thunderstorms, Wow I should leave the tags alone, fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3416336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a sudden storm marks the end of a case, it is necessary to celebrate accordingly. Preferably not by punching your flatmate.</p><p>In other words, rain and making out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Sudden Hurricanes And Striking Realizations

"He looks like thunder and adrenaline" was Sherlock Holmes’s last conscious (or sane) thought before John Watson kissed him.

Lightening split the sky; ethereal forks of pure energy illuminating the entwined silhouettes of the two men- a picture of lust and desperation. Time yet again was fluid: relativity remained meek.

Sherlock moved like fire, fingers tracing over every scar and imperfection on John’s skin; his own hot to the touch, feverish, even. He was very beautiful, pale lips and thin cheeks, and kissed only with his eyes closed, not quite with passion or desire that people usually see or expect. Sherlock kissed as if the world was collapsing and he didn’t care, to hell with anyone who did.

John smelled of rain and stars and freedom and endgame, of endorphins and flames and summer storms like the one raging outside. He tasted even better, which Sherlock decided was against all logic; salty metal of blood and sweat, fresh brashness of rainwater and sweet harshness of something just so _John_ that there was no other way it could be described. Intoxicating. Breathtakingly perfect.

They broke apart slowly, like dawn rises- softly, gently. Sherlock’s eyes roaming over his John, John barely breathing as he gazed at Sherlock in the pale twilight of summer night.

"You taste of ozone and magic."

Sherlock’s eyes flicker to meet John’s in surprise. He swallows a declaration.

"And you of bloodshed and dusk."

John grins slightly and presses his lips to Sherlock’s in a chaste kiss.

"Maybe I wouldn’t taste of blood now if you didn’t insist on punching me before."

"It wasn’t my fault."

"Mhmm."

More words go unspoken.

John opens the kitchen window. The chatter of raindrops clattering down the drainpipes drowns out their thoughts.

"You kissed me." Sherlock states after a minute of loud silence and several moments after a thorough snogging.

"I did." John agrees. Silence is resumed. Sherlock stares out of the window, willing himself to break the tension between them.

"Do you-" John starts, but cuts himself off. He smiles sorrowfully at his feet and the small puddle that has formed around him (blasted thunderstorm) since they barged in, lips locked and sodden to the bone. They're not much better off now- still wet, but not kissing. 

A small droplet falls from the ceiling. Then another. And suddenly they both can't stand it anymore. John crushes Sherlock's shirt collar and drags him towards him, throwing them both off-balance as they tumble out of the kitchen into the living room.

The couch is welcoming and they fall backward, nestling against small cushions and each other's limbs. John on top, Sherlock sighing softly as he watches his friend remove his shirt. 

"Do you-"

John tries again and fails, this time for a very different reason. Sherlock is on him, all over him, hands wandering where only eyes did before. 

Thunder rumbles outside. 

 

\--¤-¤-¤--

 

Dappled sunlight reaches John first. He tries to move, but is met with a mumble of disapproval from Sherlock (Currently on top of him, naked save for some pillows).

 "Sh'lock" Her grunts begrudgingly as the aforementioned digs in an elbow into his side. Sherlock tilts his head and kisses John on the jaw bone.

"What day is it? "

"Monday. I think." His eyebrows furl and a look of unpleasant surprise fleets across his face. "I promised Sarah I'd be at the surgery today!"

"Highly unlikely." Sherlock whispers into John's ear.

John raises his eyebrows. The two men lie contentedly on their living room couch in the young light of morning. 

"Sherlock." John begins. "Did we-"

"Stab a serial killer, get in a fight about it and finally address our feelings for one another? I think so."

The brunette turns towards him with a grin. John smiles fondly. 

"I meant to ask if we just shagged without closing the door but that works too."

It is now John's turn to grin as Sherlock stops abruptly, an expression of mortified embarrassment forming. 

"We did? With Mycroft''s cameras aimed  _right_ at us?"

"I didn't think of that. I wonder if- Oh God, mental imagery is scarring. Not of us. Of your brother. "

Sherlock pulls a face and sits up, kneeing John in the ribs. He sniffs. 

"Why is everything so wet?"

John shrugs as best as he can without wincing again. "Thunderstorm was quite a sight last night."

"Oh. Yes." Sherlock sniffs again, before looking over his shoulder at John, who is currently propped up on his elbow. "Breakfast?" Sherlock asks innocently. 

"God, yes."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> As this work is sloppily written (half an hour) and unbeta'd, I do hope you can forgive any irk, not so fluid sentences and errors.  
> On the other hand, if you did enjoy it please leave me a comment or kudos, as either are greatly appreciated!


End file.
